(The prompt was to write something where a guy is insistently hitting on Misty and Ash gets pissed, while they're already in a relationship.)

—-

My Hero

"Has anyone ever told you you're beautiful?"

She gives an embarassed laugh. The guy is tall, with muddy green eyes under a mop of brown curls; his lips curve at the corners in a grin. She noticed his stare a couple times.

"Someone did, yeah."

He laughs too, softly. "Of course. Hard not to notice," he says. He leans closer, casually laying a hand on the back of the bench. She sees pale brown freckles running down his arm. "So, what's your name?"

She raises her eyebrows. "Why do you want to know?"

"Just trying to get to know you" he says with a shrug. He sits, crossing his legs. "It's a shame such a pretty girl is sitting here all alone."

His eyes shine quietly and she can feel her cheeks flush a bit red. "I'm not alone," she replies though; he frowns a little and looks around.

"I don't see anyone."

"He's gone to get something to drink."

"Of course." But it doesn't sound like he believes it. He stretches his arms along the bench; he's not touching her, but she's aware of his arm behind her shoulders, his fingers nearly brushing her skin. "Maybe I can keep you company until your friend comes back, then. Are you gonna tell me your name?"

She tilts her head and bites her lip for a moment. "Why don't you tell me yours first?"

He smirks. "Fair enough," he says. "I'm Shane. Your turn now."

"Misty," she sighs. He lets it sink in his mind.

"Almost as beautiful as you are," he comments then. "See, that wasn't hard now, was it?"

His fingers curl around her shoulder as he talks. She stiffens, startled, and he laughs again.

"Come on. I don't bite."

But maybe I do, she thinks, and she grabs his hand to move it away. He takes the chance to close his fingers around hers, holding her hand in his for a moment; she gives him a stare, then yanks it away from his grip.

"Could you stop?"

He laughs again, but there's nothing soft about it this time, nothing kind. "Why, because otherwise your friend will come here and kick my ass?"

"Because I asked you to," she snaps. "And besides, if I wanted to kick your ass, I'd do it myself. Don't worry."

"What's going on?"

She turns to see Ash standing next to the bench, eyebrows in a frown, a steaming cup of cappuccino in each hand. She shakes her head with a sigh: "Nothing. He was just leaving."

Shane looks at Ash, then back at her. "Who's this? Your little brother?"

"I'm her boyfriend," he points out, emphasizing the word well. "And you are?"

Shane gives a throaty laugh: "Boyfriend? Come on, you deserve better."

"Hey!"

Ash's hands tighten around the cups. Shane stares him in the eyes and lays his arm around her shoulders again; and suddenly everything happens so fast that she doesn't even have the time to react: Ash sets the cups down on the bench—one tips over the edge, spilling a flood of cappuccino on her shoe—and a second later he's yanking Shane away from her. "Leave her alone!" he growls, fists clenched; he tugs him to his feet, but Shane's bigger, and moments later he has him grasped by the collar of his shirt.

By the time she reaches them, Ash has taken a punch to the face and thrown a couple in return. She grabs Shane's arm and jerks him away, squeezing between the two of them: "Enough! Both of you!"

They keep trying to throw themselves at each other. She shoves Shane away, holding Ash by his shirt. "Get lost! And you—" she turns to look at Ash "sit down."

Shane stares fuming at both, a trail of blood dripping down his chin from a split lip; but their scuffle drew the attention of quite a few passerbys, so he takes the hint and does leave, after mumbling some insult. She breathes out and pushes Ash towards the bench, forcing him to sit. Her heart hammers a little in her throat.

He's got a black eye, swelling a bruised purple. She looks at it for a couple moments and shakes her head.

"What on earth were you doing?"

"He was bothering you," he grumbles. She sighs.

"I could have handled it myself," she tells him. He puffs his cheeks and looks away. She closes her eyes for a moment: "Alright, wait there. Don't move a muscle."

She walks to the café to ask for some ice. He's still there when she comes back, thankfully; and she sits next to the surviving cappuccino cup and holds the ice pack against his bruise.

"You don't need to get hurt to protect me," she says. Then leans closer and lays a small kiss on his forehead. "But thank you anyway."

"I just didn't want that guy to hurt you."

"Yeah. My hero," she teases him. "It's alright. I'm fine."

"I know," he says. But he's still pouting a bit, so she sighs one more time and kisses him again.

"You also don't need to be jealous. You know."

"I wasn't—" he begins to say, then stops. "Alright, maybe a bit."

She shakes her head. She ruffles his hair gently, then sits quietly by his side, holding the ice. The small curious crowd is scattering again. She watches at the spilled cup rolls away in a gust of wind and catches herself smiling: she loves him for a lot of things, and this is definitely one.